


Red Shift

by sibley (ferns)



Series: Storm Signals [1]
Category: The Flash (Comics), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: 'will this have singhaway-' yeah., Background Poly, Child Death, F/M, Journalist Iris West, Major Character Undeath, Multi, Nora Allen is the Flash, Not Canon Compliant, but also not?, the speedforce isn't picky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 09:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12208464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferns/pseuds/sibley
Summary: "'Red shift' is a key concept for astronomers. The term can be understood literally - the wavelength of the light is stretched, so the light is seen as 'shifted' towards the red part of the spectrum. Something similar happens to sound waves when a source of sound moves relative to an observer."Barry Allen dies that night. Henry Allen is framed. Nora Allen gets struck by lightning.





	Red Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my AU where we hate canon and Love Nora Allen. Also I know this says this is a comics-based AU, but Iris West Isn't White (William is, though, because fuck William).
> 
> Warnings: child death, descriptions of child injury/death, a _very_ brief mention of csa, really they just say it didn't happen but they checked for it.

Nora’s walking home from the library when she gets the awful feeling in her gut that something isn’t right. It builds as she walks home, but she swivels around a few times to check if she’s being followed and she isn’t. She can’t put her finger on what’s wrong. It might just be paranoia and anxiety conspiring against her.

 _Might_ be.

But then, when Nora gets home, she sees that the door is just slightly ajar.

 _Barry might’ve just left it open,_ she rationalizes. Or tries to. Her ears are ringing and it’s hard to think.

And then she steps into the house and freezes.

The living room is in disarray, books thrown across the floor and couch overturned. Nora feels like she can’t breathe as she sees disconnected parts of the scene first.

Henry, wide eyed, clutching something to his chest as he kneels in the doorway to the kitchen.

The knife in Henry’s hand.

The blood on the floor.

Barry’s eyes, open and glassy and dull.

The way his body flops like he’s-like he’s-no, Nora won’t let herself think it-like he’s _unconscious_ when Henry pulls him a little bit closer to his chest.

The blood on Barry’s bright yellow shirt.

The same blood on Henry’s hands. _Coating_ them.

Nora connects all the puzzle pieces in her head just as she realizes she’s screaming.

* * *

Just like she did every night, Nora paced in front of her pinboard.

It’s been fourteen years to the day since that night. Thirteen years since Henry was put away for the murder of her son. Ten years since she and Darryl stopped seeing each other, even though she knows he and Henry still do. It doesn’t matter to her. She knows he’s always going to be a part of their lives. It’s been seven years since she moved out of the house she and Henry shared when Barry was alive.

Now, she lived in an apartment only a few blocks from the precinct where one of her friends works and where Darryl is captain. It’s not a coincidence.

Fourteen years ago, Barry died.

Fourteen long years of trying to prove that her husband didn’t do it.

She doesn’t know how much longer it will take.

Nora’s been hoarding evidence for years. She’s no CSI, but sometimes Singh will acknowledge their history for long enough to let her take a peek at the evidence that they still have from that night. It’s not often, though-he’s loathe to do anything illegal, something Nora reminds him is a little bit hypocritical considering how they met. It had involved a rooftop, a black cape, and a slice of red velvet cake.

Once Darryl told him that Nora was allowed to look at the evidence for _that_ specific case and that one _only,_ though, he relented. Nora’s never found anything new.

Nobody else had the motive to kill Barry except for her and Henry, and a dozen eyewitnesses and several security cameras placed her at the library and on the way home when the murder happened. Barry’s blood was all over Henry’s hand. His fingerprints were all over the knife. He and Barry had been alone in the house.

Nora can still remember how the words had tasted in her mouth when she answered the police’s questions. Questions about if Henry had ever hurt her or Barry before. About if he’d threatened her. They knew he hadn’t been drunk, but they asked if he had drinking problems anyway. She can still remember how they spoke to each other in hushed whispers, confirming that there was no evidence pointing to Barry having been sexually assaulted before he died, that it was just the single wound to the chest, that-that-a _hundred_ things that she’d overheard before Darryl stepped in, furious and eyes red from crying and yelling that Nora shouldn’t be here for this.

They called her crazy, later on. For defending Henry. For believing his story that he’d been in the backyard when he heard something loud falling over inside the house and had run inside just in time to see someone standing in his destroyed house stabbing his son in the heart. Henry had told the police over and over and over again that he’d been trying to stabilize the knife, trying to save his son, that there’d been no time to stop the attack…

But they never believed him. _Never._ Why would they?

Nora was the only one who had faith in him. Who knew that no matter what everybody else thought, her husband was innocent. It was one of the reasons why she refused to change her last name back to Thompson, like it had been before she got married. Henry was still her husband. She wasn’t ashamed to have his last name. She loved him and he loved her and that wasn’t going to change because of the looks on people’s faces when she told them her last name and they connected it to the murder that happened years prior. Her face was famous, and so was her husband’s, but not in the good way.

The knock on Nora’s door startled her out of her thoughts. Tossing a towel over her pinboard, she headed to answer the door. It was probably just her next door neighbor again. He always had problems with his faucet and Nora usually knew how to fix it.

But when she opened the door, it was a woman she’d never seen before.

She was over a decade younger than Nora, probably over two, with reddish orange hair, dark brown eyes and skin, wearing a dark purple blouse and jeans. “Nora Allen? I need to ask you about your son.”

Nora promptly tried to slam the door in her face.

“No, wait-” The woman shoved her way between the doorframe and the door. “I-I probably shouldn’t have opened on that. My name’s Iris, Iris West, I’m a reporter with the _Picture News-”_ Nora redoubled her efforts to close the door. “Crap, I probably shouldn’t have said that either-look, I was a friend of Barry’s, okay?”

Nora paused and Iris triumphantly wriggled her way inside the apartment. Nora crossed her arms. “You knew Barry?”

Iris nodded. “We were in elementary school together. We were friends. He came over to my house a few times. I think I was his only friend, really.”

“Iris West…” Nora frowned as she realized why that name had sounded so familiar. “William’s daughter?”

Iris nodded again. “Yeah, that’s me.” She looked around Nora’s apartment. “Nice place.”

“Thanks. What are you doing here? Using your connection to my family to try to get a story?” Nora asked bitterly. “I’ve told my story enough times.”

“No. No, I promise, I’m not. My boss doesn’t even know I’m here or that I knew Barry. I’m… I’m sorry if I brought up any bad memories. But I’m here because I don’t think your husband killed Barry.” Iris squared her shoulders. “I think he’s innocent. And I want your help to prove it.”

* * *

Nora turned Iris’s offer over in her head the next day as she flipped through the rather slim file on Barry’s case. It was getting dark out, and she’d need to walk home to her apartment soon, but… It couldn’t hurt to stay at the precinct for a few more minutes, could it?

“You’ve looked at that file for years now.” Nora looked up and Singh sighed. “I’m not going to tell you to get over it. But… I don’t think you’re going to find anything new looking through it.”

“I have to try, David. Don’t I?” Nora set the file down. “Where’s Forrest? He was here half an hour ago…”

“Home. Like you should be. There’s a storm moving in. It came out of nowhere. Being here when there’s a blackout is no fun.” As if on cue, the lights flickered. David pointed at them and then looked flatly at Nora.

“Alright, fine, I’m going.” She hesitated for a second. “I-”

The skylight above her crashed down.

For a moment Nora tasted blood and copper, and then the world went dark.

She didn’t even scream.

* * *

_“Mrs. Allen? Um, it’s me, Iris. I know we don’t really know each other, but I brought you flowers. I-I hope that’s okay.”_

_“Nora, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I-please, I can’t lose you too. Not like we lost Barry. They won’t even let Henry_ see _you. He-he knows you’re alive, but he can’t see you. Please, Nora. You have to wake up. The city’s changing. We need you.”_

_“Hey, Nora. We miss you at the precinct even though what you were doing was pretty illegal. Singh pretends he doesn’t but he visits you too, you know. Doesn’t say anything. That’s why you haven’t heard him.”_

_“Got a message from Doc Allen for you. He says he loves you. Don’t know_ why _he only used his favor with me to tell you_ that, _but he did. Hope you appreciate it.”_

* * *

“You’re awake,” Henry says softly. Voice hoarse. He’s gaunter than he was the last time Nora saw him. Face harder. But it’s still the man she fell in love with. “I can’t… I can’t believe it. You’re _awake.”_

“I’m awake,” Nora agrees. It’s almost hollow. She doesn’t know how she feels about it. She’s awake, but she’s changed. She’s _different_ now. And she doesn’t know how she’s going to tell Henry. “I’m okay.”

“Thank god,” Henry whispered. “Oh, thank god. I was so afraid you were never going to wake up. I didn’t get to see you, there was nothing I could do, I just…”

Nora bowed her head. “I’m sorry.” It had happened so fast… “I’m okay. I haven’t changed.”

“Yes, you have,” Henry corrected. “I don’t know how you’ve changed but you have. You’re still my wife, but… You look… Alive. I haven’t seen you look this healthy in years.”

Nora laughed weakly. “Maybe the lightning jump-started something in me.” She meant it as a joke, hoping Henry wouldn’t know how close it really was to the truth. “Maybe it did something to me.”

“Maybe it did,” Henry murmured.

* * *

Nora stood on top of her apartment building. The wind tangled her hair around her face, the steady drizzle was making the building slipperier than was safe, and the buzzing in her veins is making her feel like she’s going to throw up if she doesn’t start running.

And that’s exactly what she came up here to do. Run.

She took a few deep breaths. Nora knew she’d be fine. She’d already tested her...powers...out before, even if it was completely on accident. It’d be _fine,_ she’d be _fine,_ everything would be _just fine._ She hoped.

Nora didn’t even know if she was supposed to be calling them ‘powers’ or not. Maybe abilities was a better term? Did that mean the same thing? She rubbed her shoulders and took a few deep breaths. There were other people with powers, that much Nora knew. The Superman and Superwoman of Metropolis were basically gods. The Batman in Gotham was rumored to have them. So it wasn’t _too_ unbelievable to think that she had them, was it?

But why? Why her? Why would she be the one to get them? It didn’t make any _sense._

Obviously, it had been the lightning bolt that gave her these...these abilities. That much was obvious. Or maybe she was wrong and it was a coincidence. Maybe she was delusional.

It was so _frustrating,_ not knowing anything.

Nora sat on the edge of the roof with her legs dangling down and thought about how badly she wanted to cry.

But the thrumming in her bones was still telling her that she had to run. And running was easier than facing her feelings, sometimes. It hadn’t been in decades, but when she was little and running from older kids and dragging Henry along behind her… It’d been enough to close her eyes and run.

So that’s what she did.

The speed force smiles and whispers “welcome. we’ve been waiting. it’s been so long. _welcome._ ”


End file.
